by Paul Kirk
“Let’s take our time making it across, guys,” said Connor, “No hurry. Let’s stay safe.”
“Yep,” said McLeod.
“Wow, there was some kick-ass shitstorm went on here, Mac,” said BB.
“That there was.”
Clearing the concrete Jersey barriers put in place to block access midway across the bridge, Connor took one last glance behind him at the cliffside river view of a barricaded Duquesne University campus. Sitting high atop a natural bluff within the downtown city limits, the college campus seemed to have at least survived the onslaught of H5N1 and all the decimation brought with it. Like old times, when the campus was nothing more than a bustling small enclave of the Holy Ghost Fathers, the small, Catholic university pushed beyond the devastation. Without the use of binoculars, coordinated human activity was evident up on the ‘Bluff’ as it was called, particularly near the 'Old Main' administration building. Smoke fluttered from a large fire in front of Old Main, while small stick-like figures in bright red cloth moved nearby with purpose. Studying the campus from a military perspective, fortified guard stations were well placed along the riverside cliff, suggesting the rest of the campus area was probably just as well protected against marauders or those unwanted.
"That boat's flying! That's some engine." Jackson pointed upriver.
"I see it," said McLeod.
"Yeah, I got it," said Connor.
"What kinda boat is it? It's fast…loud," said Cody.
"I, uh, I think it’s a Bayliner. Probably twenty-two foot or more," said Roger, "Here give me those." Roger examined the boat approaching from about 200 yards upriver. "Yeah! That's a Bayliner 335SB Cruiser with Twin MerCruiser 8.1s. Oh man," said Roger, "That thing can move."
"You know your boats," suggested John McLeod.
"Hah!” yelled Rhonda, approaching her husband. “He's wanted a Bayliner since he was sixteen."
"I see four men with guns on that Bayliner," said Roger.
"Stay down. Everyone. Rog?"
"Right. Yes, sir." Roger remembered to duck below the rail. A few hundred feet below, the crystal clear water of the Allegheny River flowed past and the Bayliner slipped beneath the bridge making its way downstream, likely to the Point. After the boat passed, they crossed the bridge, reaching the entrances to the Liberty Tunnels or 'Tubes' as they were commonly called. They took their time assessing the gaping black inbound/outbound tunnel entrances. They'd reached their primary goal for the day by 16:00, an hour ahead of schedule.
“There’s signs of recent activity here, Mac,” said Marty.
“I agree. What’re you seeing?”
“A fresh minicamp to the left near the inbound entrance.”
“Good catch.”
Rusting cars clogged both tunnel entrances as they stared the one hundred feet of visible distance into the tunnels ahead of them. Looking further into the tunnels, cars were packed all the way in until darkness shrouded any further assessment. Using binoculars, there was the proverbial light at the other end.
“You want us to go through that? I’m not liking that idea,” said McLeod.
“What about we go left down that ramp there? How ‘bout that?” said Jackson.
“Huh,” said Connor.
“You said we’re going south of Pittsburgh, wouldn’t that way do it?”
“Ahh. Yeah, Jackson, your bearing is right.”
“Don’t much like the idea of running into that tunnel. Gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah,” volunteered Jason in agreement with Jackson.
“What’s on the other side of the tunnel, Mac?” asked Roger.
“Hmm, yeah, we could take that road down to East Carson and out that way like Jackson suggests, I guess,” said Connor, thinking, “But, you know guys, I’d love to revisit my hidden cache of weapons and supplies.”
“A weapons cache?” asked McLeod. His eyes sparkled with a sudden interest.
“Yeah.”
“What you talkin’ about?” asked Marty.
“Well, I socked away a decent stash of supplies from before the Sickness.”
“For real?” Marty remained skeptical.
“Not too far off of Route 51 on the other side.”
“No shit?” said Marty.
“Is that right, Mac?” asked McLeod. His face perked up at the possibility.
“Yeah. Route 51 runs north/south on the other side of the Tubes,” said Connor.
"Tubes?"
"Oh, yeah. That's what we call the Liberty Tunnels in Pittsburgh. It a local nickname."
“Uh, huh,” said McLeod, " and you have a cache on the other side somewhere?"
“I do. I stockpiled a nice batch of stuff hidden behind a wall in a coal cellar at 910 Brownsville Road.” Connor looked to Cody. "Cody, keep binoculars focused on the Tubes for me. Let me know if you see anything."
"Yes sir, Mr. Connor Mac."
"Sir is fine, Cody. Please, just call me, sir." Connor smiled.
"Yes, sir.” Cody beamed at this new development.
Keeping the area around them secure, the team settled close and listened, waiting to hear more. Connor studied the tunnels, particularly the right side outbound tunnel. He turned to the team. “Marty, you and I could scout it. Come back if the Tubes are clear.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me more about this cache, Mac?” asked McLeod.
“Ahh, it’s just a little something I hid away for a rainy day.”
“As in food?”
“Sure, some good Jasmine white rice packed vacuum-tight for starters. Probably still good. Some canned food. Whiskey.”
“Mac and cheese?” asked Roger, before Rhonda slapped his arm.
“Huh? Yeah, Rog, Kraft…only the best. If I remember right, forty boxes. Sealed up tight. Might still be good, I dunno. Threw some of those silica packets in with it to keep it dry.”
“Did you say whiskey?” asked Jackson.
“I did.”
“What kind?”
“Jack.”
“Any Jim?”
“Who the hell drinks Jim? I got Jack.” Connor smiled at Jackson in challenge to his whiskey preference.
“I guess I could live with that. How much you got?”
“You’ll have to see, Jackson. But, you, me and maybe Marty and BB could drink real hard for a week or two at least.”
“Oh, man.”
“Weapons?” asked John McLeod.
“Duh.”
“Worth the trip?”
“Why not? It’s a good short-term goal and has stuff we need. Would I risk the team if it wasn’t?”
“We got most of what we need already, Mac,” said Jackson. The thought of pushing through the dark tunnels was making him a bit nervous.
“I probably have over $5,000 worth of supplies in there.”
“You’re kiddin’!” said Rhonda, shocked.
“Wow!” said Jackson and Marty at the same time.
“Ah, huh. And, that’s after I set it up to be undetectable. Most of the food’s vacuumed sealed along with desiccants.”
“Desiccants?” asked Cody. He had not turned around from watching the tunnels, but was listening intently.
“The silica stuff. Keeps stuff fresh and dry.”
“Oh.”
Connor studied the tunnel entrance formulating a plan.
“What for?” asked Rhonda.
“What for what?”
“Why’d you make this stash?" asked Rhonda.
“Cache is the proper term. I dunno. For shits and giggles back when I was young and if the world ever went apocalyptic...like now, I guess.”
“$5,000 in supplies?” asked Marty.
“About that, Surf Boy. I stopped counting around then. But, I'd say my paranoia was right on all counts,” said Connor. Lost in thought, he continued to stare at the outbound tunnel entrance.
“You mean to tell me you packed away $5,000 in supplies and weapons ‘just-in-case’ and hidden in some house nearby?” asked Marty.
“That's correct. I hid the stuff at 910 Brownsville Road. By the way, that happens to be directly across the road from the 915 Brownsville Road address that I referenced on the map I left at the mill. You know, just in the event somebody is looking to find us."
"C’mon, Mac,” said McLeod, “You're not blowing smoke up our asses, are you?”
“Nah...I'm not. I liked to be prepared some...back in the day.” Connor laughed in remembrance.
“Wow. That’s some pre-planning. Though, I guess I’m not that surprised about it,” said McLeod, “knowing you.”
“Huh. I started when I was young, early in my military career. And it kept building, you know perfecting it little by little. Sort of like a hobby.”
“Uh huh,” said McLeod, “Some hobby.”
“It was before...before, ahh, before I had other more important expenses.”
“Damn,” said Marty.
“Yeah, Surf Boy. See what you signed onto here?” suggested Connor.
“Copy that.”
“And, it’s well hidden, that’s for sure.”
“No scavengers?”
“I’d be seriously shocked if anyone’s found it. The damn place could burn down around it and it'd still be good. Designed it myself back in the day. For fun mostly...it's quite the little vault hidden behind that cellar wall.”
“Was it your house?”
“No. Grandma’s.”
“What else you got in it?” risked Cody, listening with awe. He did glance back when asking the question.
“Name it.”
“Candy?"
"Ahh, yeah, some hard candy. Not much. Again, vacuum-packed and double wrapped."
"Wow. What kind?"
"I don't recall. Wait, umm, JuJu something’s in one container. My brother Andy’s idea. Gobstoppers in the other for Ryan. Jolly Ranchers for my sisters.”
"How many boxes?"
"Not boxes. Separate gallon containers in Ziplocs."
"Think it’s still good?"
"Dunno. Shelf life under normal conditions has certainly expired. I guess we'd have to see."
“What else?” asked Marty.
“Well, ahh, complete survival gear packs set for five. A few nice weapons that I’d love to have. You’d have to see.”
“And?” asked Rhonda. Roger smiled at her building curiosity.
“Yeah, there’s some other foods, too, Rhonda. Some purified water and five Camel water packs with three-liter water sippers for each. I set five Coyote’s preloaded for deep travel.”
“Those’re some nice packs. Wow,” said Jackson. He touched his Coyote pack in admiration.
“I remember putting in some silver coins, dimes mostly for good measure. I think there's thirty-five ounces total weight to be used for trade. I put in some specialty items and such. Gasoline preservative tablets.”
“Oh, wow,” said Marty, “You got smokes?”
“Ah, yeah...twenty cartons of Marlboros. Great trading item.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sure they’re probably stale, but they’ll light up. I tried to seal 'em up good.”
The team listened while appraising the two openings of the Liberty Tunnels, the entry doors in the center, and the open areas on each side of the bridge. They considered the risks.
“Yep, I’d like to get my hands on it, that’s for sure,” said Connor, “I especially want the ammo. And…a few personal items.”
“How far?” asked BB.
“About three miles south of the tunnel entrance up a few hills into a place called Carrick.”
“Carrick. Hmm,” said McLeod.
“Brownsville Road runs right through Carrick. My cache is sitting there waitin’ for us in the basement of my grandma’s house.”
“What's up this road to the right, here?” asked Roger. He studied the weed-infested road that branched off to the right of the tunnels and up the side of the mountain.
“That’s McArdle Roadway, Rog. It’d take us up to the top of Mount Washington. Yeah, I guess we could go up and around that way. Skirt the tunnel. Head through Allentown and Mt. Oliver and into Carrick that way.”
“That's a route we could take?”
“Yeah, it’d take a good deal longer, but it'll give you guys one a helluva view of the ‘Burgh. A classic postcard moment, if you will.”
“I don’t wanna do the tunnels if it’s okay with you, Connor Mac,” said Jackson.
“Not fond of it myself,” said McLeod.
“Me neither,” said Rhonda.
“Same goes for me, “ said Jude.
“I’ll go, Mac,” said Marty.
“I’m in,” said BB.
“I’ll go with you, sir,” said Cody.
“I’ll go,” said Roger.
“I’ll stick with my dad on this one,” said Jason.
Connor stood and stared at each team member in turn. Mildly irritated, he stomped a fat brown rat that’d come too close to his boot, smearing its remains across the bridge decking.
“Hold up here! Did we just up and become a fuckin' democratic convention?” Connor’s fierce and clipped command tone slammed into the small group; the team quieted at the outburst. Connor cleared his throat, nodding toward Marty. And, after some thought, he looked toward Cody.
“Right now, Marty, Cody and I’ll slip into the Tubes to scout. The rest of the team will wait here and keep safe.”
Roger and Rhonda stiffened noticeably, but held their thoughts. Jackson, BB, Jason and McLeod kept silent, though several quick glances were exchanged.
“Copy that,” said Marty.
“Copy,” managed Cody, before his voice thickened too much simply from being chosen.
CHAPTER 7.17-Starkes at the Mill
“They left probably yesterday at dawn, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley.
The Superhawk had settled into the main yard of the Youngstown steel mill thirty minutes or so after first light. A five-man team guarded the Superhawk. GT, Scott, Mickey, Captain Daubney and Tim McDonald carefully canvassed the area while the rest of the team set up shop. Nicole fed CJ near the scattered remnants of an old campfire while she glanced about at the extensive drivel and trash left behind.
“Phoenix’s entire army must’ve camped here for at least a few nights,” suggested Nicole, “Look at the garbage.”
“I see that, Nicole,” said Colonel Starkes, “Yeah, they left quite a mess, the pigs. I think that stink hole over there was supposed to be the latrines.”
Both Nicole and Colonel Starkes covered their noses as the wind reminded them of the stench.
“Now I see why your team’s setting up so far away from here.”
“Oh, yeah,”
They made haste moving away.
“Damn, Phoenix is on the move again,” said the colonel.
Amanda exited the helicopter carrying her Remington and slowly walked toward the secured central area of the mill. Weak, but gaining strength fast, she ignored the occasional glances from the woman named Nicole. She hadn't spoken to her since the colonel's introduction at the pre-dawn briefing. Tired and weak beyond anything she’d ever experienced, Amanda pushed each leg forward, shoving another huge slice of five-year cheddar into her mouth. With concentrated effort, she tracked the embossed, metal direction plates bolted eye level at every juncture inside the mill. After a few more turns, she found herself at the heart of Furnace #1. And, like the rest of the mill, the furnace area was deserted other than piles of garbage, as if many men had simply used the place for what it was worth and then moved on.
“I’m here, Mac. I made it,” whispered Amanda, “A bit late, I guess.” Sensing movement behind her, she turned to see Scott catching up, practically rushing to her side like a newborn puppy. Saying nothing at his arrival, they each took their time walking around the furnace and then into the deportation storage bays that housed a huge supply of rusting, stacked steel. Easing her hips against the steel billet edge, Amanda’s shoulders slumped. Scott dropped to his knees
before her and took the opportunity to check her left leg bandage. She made no complaint as he drew down her pants and checked the dressing on her left thigh. Satisfied, he stood and slipped her pants into place, rebuttoning her jeans.
“You’re all good.”
“You’re a fantastic man, Scott.”
“Nonsense.”
“You are.”
“I’m just here to help you find your people, that’s all.”
“Yeah. Well, you’re incredible.” Amanda softly stroked the tiny bulge of her belly, drifting into deep thought. She wondered about bringing a newborn into this world. She worried about Mac and Marty. For some reason, she recalled the black and white photo from an art show she attended back in college. The photo was of an elementary school swing set, taken at close range to capture only the swing set seats. The first seat was clear down to the scratches and wear marks. The galvanized chain-link attachment points were pitted and worn. The remainder of the swing set seats faded in clarity and melted into the grayness of the rainy day when it was taken. Saddened by the image, she wondered if her unborn child would ever have the luxury of such a school and the laughter of other kids.
Scott let her fade away as he watched her soft, gentle strokes to her belly. Colonel Starkes approached.
“They’re gone, Amanda. If Connor Mac and company were ever here.”
“I’m sure they made it here.”
“Hmmm—”
“If you knew Mac, you’d never doubt him.”
“Yeah, well Phoenix’s men weren’t far behind him and hard on his ass. Based on the mess we found, who knows? I’m wondering if maybe they captured your team and are dragging them back to Cleveland.”
“Hah! Fat chance. Besides, we flew in that way and would’ve flown over the army.”
“True,” agreed Colonel Starkes, "I'm glad you're keeping track of things."
Amanda pushed off the steel and took a few steps to stand closer to the colonel. She wiped her hands from the rust. “You have anyone here can tell how long before this Phoenix army left?”
“We're working on it.”
“Alright.”
“As it stands, right now, Shamus insists they left yesterday, maybe the day prior.”
“The civilian pilot?”